Psychoanalytic Theory
by BiblioMatsuri
Summary: Two girls stand side by side. To all appearances, they are alike in every way. Ah, but no two people can be completely alike - so which is real? A companion story to Psyche. Part of the Spirits Rise continuity.


Disclaimer: I don't own DP.

BGM: "Bye Bye Beautiful" by Nightwish.

* * *

Intellectualization

I lick my chapped lips and grimace at how far I'd let my appearance slip in recent months. Well, it couldn't be helped, so there's no point in making a fuss, crying over spilled milk and all that.

Who am I kidding?

Muttering deprecations at anyone and everyone who was a member of my family, employed by said family, or both, I drag myself back to my feet and dream of cottage cheese and jam. Oh, for the simple pleasures I took for granted.

I was an idiot. Not that I'm not still stupid, but at least now I'm not as blind. I can't change my family – but if I hurry, I might still be able to save her soul.

Gathering my courage, I take that last fateful step and reach the gatehouse. I raise a hand to ring the bell, and find myself staring into a pair of glowing red eyes in a monstrous face as the world fades into pure white.

* * *

I choke, splutter and try to climb to my feet, only to fail as my arms slip out from under me. At that moment, I realize several things. First, that I have recently been unconscious, most likely only seconds ago. Second, that I am lying not on forest detritus or asphalt, but on polished pale gray stone. As I am no longer outside, I can only guess that for whatever reason, I was moved into the very place I was looking for.

Until I am capable of doing more than lying on my left side and sputtering, I will just have to hope that those reasons are less than sinister.

Shifting slowly, I lever myself upwards and over onto my elbows. I blink water out of my eyes and realize that that must have been what woke me. Then I shiver as my body catches up to the fact that I am absolutely freezing, thanks to the ice-cold water on top of traveling around the backwoods of Wisconsin in the middle of the blasted night.

Why did I want to do this, again?

I finally manage to make my eyes focus and as though in answer to my question, the first thing I see is my own reflection in the small puddle that had formed around my head. A pinched, pale face with wide, dull hazel green eyes outlined by bruise purple half-moons, a splotchy mess of freckles across my nose and cheekbones, still round with lingering baby fat. A gray (formerly white) scarf patterned with multicolored flowers that show through weeks of travel dust and grime is wound around my head and neck, the ends tucked under at the shoulders so as not to flap in the wind. Where the scarf has slipped back, slowly lengthening strands of straight brown hair rest flat almost to the point of my chin. Now, they flop forward, nearly touching the water as I stare in horror. I must look like the worst kind of pathetic stray, too proud to beg and too stupid to steal without getting caught.

Once again – I am an idiot.

As my senses begin to clear, I notice an odd scraping, clacking noise somewhere to my right. Firmly deciding that nothing will be gained from lying here, as I am obviously conscious and capable of movement, I maneuver back onto my left side and sit up slowly, careful not to jerk my head and trigger another dizzy spell. I really hope that I don't have a concussion. I clap a hand to my head and push the scarf away, running a hand over my head in search of tender spots. Finding none, I sigh in relief and look up.

Once again, I am met by red eyes in a monstrous face. This time, I have the faculties to recognize the face as a rather large beak belonging to an enormous green vulture in a fez. I rub my eyes, trying to blink away the confusion.

No, that's still a giant red-eyed glowing _vulture_, in a _fez_. What fresh madness have I fallen into?

Then it opens its beak, and I notice in a sort of haze that it has teeth, and speaks. "Vell, girlie? Aren't you going to thank me for vaking you up?"

I just stare, and it holds up an empty drinking glass, somehow, with its wing feathers. It shrugs and continues, "Hey, it vorks in ze movies, so ve figured 'vhy not?'"

"'Ve'? I mean, 'we'?" There are more of these things? Oh, dear Principles _no_. And I'm squeaking. Very impressive, Sheila. Just wonderful.

"Zhure, me and my – eh, brothers? I can never remember," it – he? – says mournfully. Shrugging somehow, despite not having any visible shoulders and with much ruffling of feathers, he flaps over to a tiny carved wood table and leaves the glass there, then shuffles over to me, talons clack-scraping on the stone.

I freeze. For some reason that my conscious mind cannot fathom, the thought of that nameless creature getting any closer to me is setting off my fight or flight instinct and setting it firmly to flight. That's almost funny, sort of. Flight? And it's a bird?

Oh, Principles of Reason, don't let it hurt me, don't let it hurt me, don't –

"YOU IDIOTS!" This last was roared in a deep, echoing baritone, bouncing around the room until I have no idea where it came from beyond "not from in here", for which I am ridiculously grateful. If I thought that the vulture-thing had been scary, I know that whoever just lost their temper is infinitely worse, and am I ever relieved that he isn't mad at me.

The vulture cringes, molting green feathers all over the floor, and I sit back. It's ridiculous, really. A talking buzzard. I've seen scarier things on children's shows.

In a fit of momentary insanity, I imagine its reaction to Mort or perhaps a revenge-driven Jimmykins, and burst into hysterical laughter.

When I finally manage to stop, the vulture-creature is gone. I get up, looking around frantically, and never mind that my company was some kind of annoying creature; I do not want to be trapped and alone again!

In my confusion, I am actually relieved when I look up into the smirking face of the richest man in the world. For a single, long moment between breaths, I look into his eyes and know that he can see every one of my weaknesses and already knows how best to exploit them.

I aim to deal with the Thief himself. Fathers and mothers of science, preserve me.

* * *

Author's Note: Most likely a short piece, set just before Psyche Part III. Please read and review.


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